Kiss
by hellokhaleesi
Summary: "Not the sort of kiss exchanged between two people who had spent the entire night together on a whim after weeks of dancing round barrels of sexual tension. It was soft and tender and made them both wonder why they had waited so long to act on what was between them." Draco and Hermione finally do the deed, but what comes after that? Oneshot.


_**AN: So, this is an idea that has been bugging me for weeks and I finally got it down. Just a little drabble, all cutesey fluff filled goodness. Because we all need fluffy Draco and Hermione. This is simply here to fulfil all my post-battle headcanons. Also, this is dedicated to Dajo because she is perfect and she keeps complimenting me and I'm going to end up with this stupid grin on my face for about 10 years.**_

The light filtered in through the windows, a single clear line of sunshine falling across their bodies from the only slightly opened curtains. It couldn't have been much past 5am, and the seemingly far away noises of Muggle London were just starting to pierce the bubble they had created for themselves. The sounds of cars and horns and chattering and coins being exchanged for overpriced coffee and the sound of her faint breathing as she balanced on the precipice between awake and asleep.

Draco's fingers traced the softest of patterns across her body; first, he ran the tip of his first finger across each of her ribs, just visible under her alabaster skin as her body arched ever so slightly into his touch. He smiled at that, before tracing under her ribcage, his finger do a loop just under her sternum. Her body jerked, and he withdrew his hand.

Hermione looked at him sheepishly. "Tickled." she muttered.

He gave a soft chuckle, restarting his ministrations by running his fingers along the sensitive skin under her breasts. She squirmed, and he simply carried on, delighting in the way the goosebumps followed his touch. Everything about her was _soft_; her creamy skin, even the places marred by scars, seemed to emanate light. She had long since grown out of her awkward adolescence, the too-long limbs and untamable hair had manifested into a truly beautiful young woman - her hair had, however, fought to maintain its stance as a creature of its own, but Draco thought that the wild curls suited her more than anything else.

Braced on his elbow beside her as she lay on her back, he got to admire every inch of her. The dainty hand that rested on the thigh that she had propped up, and the other one that was lightly scratching his chest with pale green nails - the unorthodox shade was apparently Luna's doing, something about colour changing nail polish. Her hands were covered in tiny scars that she refused to cover or heal, scars that traveled up her arms and across her chest. He was struck with an image of laying her down on his bed, pinning her down with a hand on her chest and running his lips across every single mark that was smeared across her skin. Draco's eyes ran over the delicate curves of her torso, the pretty, pink lace of her underwear almost infusing with her light skin.

"Draco?"

His eyes flittered back up to her face from her body. Hermione was wearing the kind of smile he never thought he'd get from her; a mixture between smug and amused.

"You're staring."

"You're beautiful."

Her chest fluttered as she laughed softly, shaking her head, the nails she was tickling his chest with suddenly playfully pushing him. "You know you don't actually need to use lines like that now, right? I'm already here."

Without warning, he grabbed her round the waist, flipping her on top of him. She let out a scream in surprise but laughed when Draco grinned and lunged forward, kissing and licking the skin between her neck and her shoulder. She giggled and scrambled to get off of him, managing to flip them over so she was underneath him again, looking up at him, all signs on fatigue gone from her eyes.

"I know," he said smugly. "but that doesn't make it untrue."

Despite the fact that she was naked, apart from her thin underwear, beneath him, and his back still bore the marks that she carved into it with her nails, she blushed at the compliment. Hermione turned her head, the flush appearing across her cheeks making him smile wider. When she glanced back at him, she rolled her eyes at his expression, so he kissed her.

Not the sort of kiss exchanged between two people who had spent the entire night together on a whim after weeks of dancing round barrels of sexual tension. It was soft and tender and made them both wonder why they had waited so long to act on what was between them.

He pulled away first, trailing his lips down her jaw, her neck, placing small kisses down her chest and in between her breasts. He could almost hear the smile in her breathing as his lips danced across her skin. Draco splayed his fingers out across her stomach and kissed all the way to her underwear before moving back upwards. He tasted the dried layer of sweat on her skin as his tongue slid across her torso and her fingers entwined themselves in his hair.

He had noticed she had a navel piercing the night before, but had been too distracted by his desire to leave her a writhing, shaking, moaning-his-name mess in his bed. It was uncommon for witches and wizards to get piercings, beyond ear piercings, mostly because it was considered a _muggle thing_. He certainly knew nobody with a piercing or tattoo, besides Luna Lovegood, who he had bumped into a year ago to discover she had a series of small tattoos scattered across her collarbones, although he hadn't asked their meaning. Luna was always a little odd anyway, so he wasn't certain if he should take her into consideration.

"Tell me," he muttered into her stomach. "what's with the piercing?"

"It's not an interesting story."

"I don't mind."

She remained silent. He looked up from his ministrations to face her, finding her eyes contently closed. After a few moments, she glanced down at him to see why he stopped and Draco could only smirk. He sat up, pulling her into his lap.

"C'mon, tell me." he smiled. She huffed.

"When the war finished, there was this few weeks where everyone just concentrated on mourning, and burying the bodies, but then we started to rebuild Hogwarts." she started. He swallowed. He hated talking about the war, hated it with every bone in his body. It made him feel like a coward, but he didn't interrupt her.

"I don't know if you knew this, but I went back to do my seventh year, to do my NEWTs." she smiled. He nodded; he didn't know that, but he should have guessed. "I went back, and we had most of our classes outside in the grounds because so many of the classrooms were still demolished. But, before I could start, Madam Pomfrey gave me this huge list of things I needed to do before she would clear me for starting school again."

"Like what?"

"I had to agree to go to these counselling help groups at St Mungos, they were a pain in this ass." she huffed. "She thought I was suffering from PTSD, but I was fine in the end, I suppose. I mean, they let me stop going, which is good. But, living in a tent, surviving off of scraps of whatever we could find meant I lost a lot of weight, and she told me I had to regain at least three stone before she would consider letting me back."

Draco had been lucky; although his time during the war had been rough, he'd never wanted for anything as basic as food. He'd never considered living without it, having to set up camp every night and forage, literally _forage_, to survive. He felt a familiar guilt, the same one that followed him round his entire life, glancing back down at her ribs that were still slightly visible. He covered them with his hands, trying to erase them, because looking at her was like looking at a manifestation of all the problems he'd only helped. She noticed, and let out a sigh, resting her forehead on his shoulder and shuffling closer to him.

"It was… intimidating. I had to get my NEWTs or it was like I was just another broken victim of the war and it was so important to me at the time but so scary." she said into his neck. "But, one day, I walked past a piercing salon, and I saw they had a deal going on navel piercings, so I went in to get one."

Draco wrapped his arms around her tightly, relishing in the sensation of her skin against his, but ignoring the way she was breathing on the same scar she had asked about a week ago, the one that curled around his neck and down his back. This wasn't typical one-night-stand pillow talk, and usually, Draco would have run a mile before he got in this deep. But, Hermione wasn't a typical woman, and he probably wasn't a typical man, so maybe it didn't matter.

"I told them what I wanted, and they said I was too thin. All of a sudden, I was gaining weight to get this one little piercing, not to finish my education and become a better person."

"Huh, so, baby steps?"

"Pretty much."

He shifted around so that his back was to the headboard and he could lean backwards. She leant backwards, his hands keeping her from falling backwards at the small of her back. The sun had risen in earnest now, and his bedroom was filled with yellow light. It illuminated her hair, making it glow like a halo around her head. He grinned, shaking his head, before kissing her again. Hermione let out a little noise of surprise, but quickly responded to him, one hand coming up to cup the back of his head.

He wasn't sure how long he drowned himself in the feeling of her, but she pulled away at some point, laughing. "No, no, no… You don't get to distract me with your," She waved a hand absently up and down his body. "-ness. Come on, you've got a fraction of my tragic backstory. Quid pro quo, who gave you the scar?"

He gave an exaggerated sigh, making her laugh again. "Fine. On one condition."

"What?"

"You let me make you breakfast."

"Deal." She jumped forward, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before shuffling off the bed. She stood up, stretching upwards, letting out a groan that he was sure she did just to make him pull her back down to the bed and ravish her again. She picked up his discarded shirt and threw it on, standing in front of the window, the bright morning sunshine casting the most perfect silhouette, the shape of her body just visible through the thin material of his shirt, her legs long and stretched out. She turned around to face him, fastening two middle buttons. "Well, come on, then."

Draco had never gotten out of bed so quickly.

~.~.~.~

Ten minutes later, he was stood in front of his oven - he had gotten a pair of pyjama trousers, as having his crotch near an open flame just made him downright uncomfortable, wizard or not - and was trying to balance cooking bacon, pancakes and toast that she could eat in the interim. He himself never strayed much further out of the realm of a simple toast and coffee, if he could be bothered with breakfast at all. A life time of full Englishs at Malfoy Manor had been enough to put him off such filling meals, but Hermione deserved the best he could her right now, and also, he suspected she still needed to put on weight. Not that he'd tell her that, for he was quite keen on keeping his tongue _inside _his mouth.

"Why do you own a toaster?"

He looked up, trying to keep an eye on the bacon and ensure the pancakes didn't burn at the same time. "Oh, I just like toast from a toaster. Is that weird?"

"No," she said simply, perched on his kitchen counter. "I just didn't think you'd own any electrical appliances."

"Got the plug sockets, why not?" he laughed, quickly shuffling the pan he was holding. He tried checking the underside of the pancake, but burned his fingers and withdrew his hand quickly.

Hermione jumped down off his counter. "Here," she said, grabbing the pan. "let me show you."

She moved the pancake round in the pan, before give it a quick flick. The pancake flew into the air and landed perfectly back in the pan. She looked quite proud of herself, and continued to do a few times before handing the pan back to him. "Flick your wrist, don't throw it."

Nervously taking the pan, he did as she suggested. The pancake did a kind of half-jump before landing across the edge of the pan. She giggled, pushing it back in with her fingers. "Good first attempt."

He chuckled, ignoring breakfast and grabbing her by the waist, and kissing her thoroughly. She laughed into his mouth, but happily allowed him to press her up against his body, threading her hands through his hair and scratching at the nape of his neck. Running his tongue across her lower lip made her mewl, and he walked them backwards until she hit the counter. His hand lazily mapped the way down the side of her body, taking note of every curve and every spot that made her gasp. He dug his fingers into the skin of her thigh, before hitching her leg over his hip. She grabbed his shoulders to support herself, laughing into their kiss again.

"Draco," she muttered. "your toast is burning."

Huffing, he gave her one more definitive kiss, before leaning into her so he could reach the toaster. His fingers fumbled on the controls as his attention was directed more at the soft skin of her neck, and how good it tasted, and breakfast be damned because the woman was killing him, but he finally found the right button and the toast popped.

"I never would have suspected you had a weird breakfast fetish." she laughed.

He scowled. "Eat your bloody toast, woman." He kissed her again, but she only laughed more.

~.~.~.~

A short while later, they were both sat in his bed; Hermione cross legged, her hair pulled over one shoulder, Draco leisurely leaned up against the headboard. She was alternating between eating breakfast and looking around his studio flat. He supposed it made sense; she didn't get the title of 'Brightest Witch of Her Age' without some innate curiosity, and she had never been presented the chance to investigate his new home. The first time she had turned up on his doorstep, she had been carrying his drunken form into his room, and the second, she had been summoning him to the Ministry for questioning. Neither presented an entirely opportune moment to appreciate the interior design.

Draco was sure that even his own mother wouldn't recognise his flat if she didn't already know it was his. He'd made sure it represented nothing of his old life; it was small, unlike the expansive grounds of Malfoy Manor. It was filled with light, muggle appliances and tiny sentimental objects that held no worth to anyone but himself.

Other than the single wall his bed was up against, there was even very little colour. Only the one wall, painted emerald green - _once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin_, he thought with a smirk - that was adorned with five different photographs in different, ornate silver frames gave any notion to his past life, or gave way to any colour. The rest of the flat was filled with bare, pale wood floors, white walls and grey furniture. There had been a few recent editions in the shape of photographs and certificates that he received; photos of him standing in front of his restaurant, _Joie_, as well as reviews, newspaper clippings… the little French gem was his pride and joy these days. Otherwise, his flat was initially a blank canvas for him to paint a future on.

Even the open space was different. It took him weeks to get used to not being able to hide behind the closed door to his bedroom, as there wasn't one. His bed, night stand and wardrobe were all on a simple raised platform, with only a curtain to separate it from the kitchen-living room area, although he rarely drew it. He could see her eyes, flickering from corner to corner of the place, almost filled with unanswered questions and queries.

"Not quite black stone and chandeliers, is it?" he asked, watching her stare around the room. Her eyes snapped to his when he spoke, blushing slightly.

"No," she shook her head. "not what I imagined."

They fell into another comfortable silence, before she broke it again. "So, about your scar?"

He groaned. "It's not quite the thrilling tale of self-discovery that your story was..." he trailed off, but laughing when he threw one of his pillows at him. "Fine. I was eleven, just before I started Hogwarts, and I did some accidental magic."

"And what? A knife fell on you?"

He paused. "No, I broke a vase. So, my charming father took a piece of it to my shoulder."

The playful, teasing smile fell from her face. "Draco, I'm..."

"Sorry?" he said bitterly. "Me too. But it's fine. I could get rid of it, I suppose." he shrugged, his hand finding the bloody mark almost subconsciously. "But, it's a nice reminder. I know he meant it as a reminder to be strong, and never let myself be so weak my magic got the better of me, but I use it to tell myself that no matter how bad I get, I'll never be that bad."

She stared at him, gaping like a fish, unable to find the words. He smiled. It was something he was so used to, the brutality of his family, his father, that he sometimes forgot how barbaric it must appear to someone like Hermione, whose family loved and cherished her and would have fought with her to the end. It stopped shocking him, the lengths people would go to, so long ago that he forgot sometimes that there were people in the world who experienced the undiluted happiness of real love.

"You'll never be like him."

"I know." he said simply.

She seemed to contemplate him for a moment, before she put both their plates on the floor beside his bed. Draco watched her curiously, his eyes widening as she slipped his shirt over her head. It was scarcely believable that the beautiful young woman in front of him was the same young girl he had known, in her knee length skirts, waving her hand around in the air like a fish out of water. She exuded a confidence he had only seen glimpses of over the years, like when she was lost in her dance with Viktor Krum at the Yule Ball.

His eyes drank her in greedily as she shuffled towards him, whatever burst of confidence in her moments before gone, her cheeks reddening, her smile sheepish. When she pressed her lips to his again, even though it must have been for the hundredth time since they had stumbled into his flat the previous night, it was shyly, hesitantly. His hand came up to cradle her face, encouraging her.

She gently pushed him down so he laid flat on his back and she crawled up his body to straddle his waist. Their kiss never broke. She kissed him like she was mapping him, trying to remember every inch of him just in case he wasn't there when he opened his eyes. Draco's hands found their places; one at the small of her back, one threaded into her wild hair. The sensation of her tongue against his lower lip made his hips jerk and she giggled into his mouth.

"Not that I don't appreciate it," he muttered into their kiss. "but why the change of mood?"

She leant back and he momentarily regretted asking because the sight of her naked, on top of him, was enough to distract him from just about anything. Steeling himself, and trying his best to concentrate on anything beside the colour of her skin and the way it reminded him of how it felt under his fingertips, he followed her gaze to her left hip, where she was indicating with her finger. He focused, and what he had thought was a birthmark the previous night, was actually a very small tattoo. No more than a couple of inches long, the letters '_**HJP' **_and '_**RBW' **_inked into her skin.

"Tattoos and piercings?" he said in sarcastic shock. "Are you trying to tell me you're a punk, Granger?"

"No," she laughed. "I just meant that people can mark you for good, too. They both have ones like this, but Harry's in on his wrist, and Ron got his at the back of neck. Harry had to hold him down so the guy could do it." She chuckled at the memory, running her finger over the mark fondly.

"When did you become a walking inspirational poster?"

She scowled, flicking his chest. He gasped in mock hurt, but she only laughed again, squealing as he dragged her back down against his body, rolling over and trapping her underneath him. She didn't even bother trying to get him off of her, but just laid there with a raised eyebrow, smirking at him.

And what else could he do, but kiss her again?

~.~.~.~

_Three Years Later..._

Château de L'Argent was an enormous, white brick mansion, located on the eastern shore of Belle-Île-en-Mer, a tiny island, just off the coast of France. The mansion had been in the Malfoy family for generations - Draco vaguely remembered his father prattling on about their French roots as a child - but only maintained a small staff to keep the place from falling apart. No one had visited in years.

A couple of spells had kept the bricks from crumbling and the dust getting too thick, and the housekeeper, an elderly woman called Maria, kept the place in a livable condition. Draco had only a handful of recollections of the place, from a long weekend trip the week before he started Hogwarts. Nothing had changed.

The oversized bed was still dressed in crisp, white sheets, and there was still more pillows than he knew what to do with at the end of it. Whether they were preserved or Maria changed them, he was unsure, but there were still flowers all over the entire house, in every room, every colour of petal, from roses to tulips to carnations and shrubs. All the rooms still smelled like musk, thick, sweet perfume and old books. There were still tens of portraits hung on the walls, muttering angrily about whatever it is that old French purebloods enjoy muttering about.

The only difference is, that when he looked out the open double doors on to the balcony, his view of the open ocean was impeded by the silhouette of his bride, leaning over the edge, laughing into the breeze.

The shape of her wedding dress - a corseted bodice and fishtail skirt - combined with the way her loose curls danced softly in the sea air made her look like a princess. The last glimmers of the sunset caught the jewels Ginny had painstakingly threaded into her hair, making it look like she was a constellation. The ivory material of her dress hugged her body, flaring out at her calves and churning Draco's insides to mush. Hermione looked truly beautiful.

He came up behind her, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck, and she leaned into him, sighing in contentment. "You never told me how beautiful it was here."

"And ruin the surprise?" he muttered. "You know me better than that."

"Indeed." she mused. "How was your talk with Harry and Ginny? You looked quite nervous."

The Potter family - Harry, his son James and a very pregnant Ginny - had all but dragged him aside after the ceremony. Well, Ginny had dragged. Harry followed. The fiery redhead had some very vivid description of what would become of his crotch if he hurt Hermione, making him swear that he would protect her and cherish her and several other things that he didn't hear while he was checking to make sure she didn't actually have her wand in her hand. When all was said and done, Harry had settled for a handshake and a "don't be a dick", and a kind of truce had been reached. Then, Ginny had smacked him in the ear for swearing around their son.

"I think they're warming up to me." he settled on, knowing that Hermione would go straight to her best friends to discover how it really went anyway.

"And Ron?"

"Ron will never warm to me." he chuckled. She agreed.

"If anything," she smiled, turning around to face him. "my mother approves. I think she's just glad that I married someone who runs such a good restaurant. She was thrilled by your Amaretto crème brûlée."

"Tell her she's welcome any time."

Hermione laughed, before kissing him, the smile still on her lips as she did so. Three years of being able to kiss her whenever he wanted and no matter where they were or what time it was, time stopped. All there was, was the feeling of her lips on his and her body pressed against his and his hands in her hair. Nothing else mattered because she was there with him. She was his happiness. She was his redemption.

When they broke apart, he rested his forehead on hers, but his eyes couldn't help themselves. They found the very same spot that they had been staring at all day long, from the moment she was close enough, coming up the aisle towards him. The area was still a little red, but it was clear; just three tiny letters, tattooed just above her heart, in plain black ink.

_**DLM**_

Draco ducked his head to kiss the tattoo softly, careful not to hurt the irritated skin, but she was beaming when he returned to full height. It was the sweetest smile he had ever had the honour of looking at.

"I love you." he said simply.

"As I love you." She cupped his jaw and brought his head down to kiss him again, and for the first time in nearly his entire life, there was nothing to stop Draco from smiling. No impending doom, no corrupt ministry, no dark forces. There was only his wife, in his arms, kissing him.


End file.
